


Safe

by hereliesnils



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Fix-It, Flirting, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, I can't even tag Sachi because she doesn't have a full name, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sachi deserved better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26499772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereliesnils/pseuds/hereliesnils
Summary: Gibson seeks help from the FBI.AU from IV-VI.
Relationships: Matt Gibson/Peter Strahm
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Strahm**

Strahm had pictured a gruff man, a tired man, a man aged beyond his years from the effort of trying to set the MPD straight. Instead, he was introduced to a slim, well-dressed young man with dark eyes and a firm handshake. When their hands slipped apart Strahm thought he may have caught the flicker of a flirtatious smile. He told himself he was just seeing what he wanted to see. It had been too damn long and this cop was too damn pretty.

He let Perez take the lead. It transpired that Gibson trusted Hoffman even less than they did, and with good reason. He had the air of a hunted man but he tried his best to hide it with confidence. Strahm couldn't help but admire him. Gibson was loathed by so many of his colleagues for doing the right thing and now he had the added fear that Hoffman was involved in something bigger. Strahm hoped they could help him bear the burden. It didn't hurt that it would mean they would see a lot more of each other. 

****

**Gibson**

Strahm was his type; tall and strong with dark hair and blue eyes. Gibson hadn't had much luck with men of that description, but Strahm was real special and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity because he looked a little like his past mistakes.

He took his chance when they stopped for lunch. Perez went to get herself a coffee and left them alone, with Strahm neglecting his sandwich while Gibson munched on an apple. Still chewing, he hopped onto Strahm's desk and let his long legs dangle over the edge. Strahm looked up at him with an odd expression; a blend of curiosity and feigned nonchalance. Gibson took one last bite of his apple and tossed it into the bin. 

“Can I call you Peter?” he said. 

“I-” Strahm's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, “I don't think that would be very professional.”

“Why don't make this unprofessional?” Gibson said.

“Why are you saying?” Strahm said. 

Gibson watched Strahm's eyes flick to the open door and sidled along the desk until he blocked it from view.

“I like you,” Gibson said.

“What are you, twelve?” Strahm said. 

“At least I can remember being twelve.”

“Ouch.”

“What have I gotta do to get you into bed, old man?”

“You can start by never calling me that again.”

“Deal.”  
****

**Matt**

The elevators in the apartment block were out of order, depriving them of a snatched kiss under flickering fluorescent lights, but Gibson surprised Strahm by taking his hand as they bounded up the stairs to his floor. The second they were in his apartment he tugged Strahm towards him by his tie, and that was it. They were shedding clothes and kissing and running their hands over each other until they stood naked at the foot of the bed. 

Matt clambered onto the mattress on all fours and stretched to retrieve his lube from the bedside drawer. 

“Like this?” Peter said.

“Yeah,” Matt said. 

“Sure,” Peter sounded a little disappointed. Matt couldn't tell if it was because it was too much or not enough. Before he could decide if Peter would prefer him bound and gagged or snuggled up in the missionary position, he felt soft lips and day-old scruff against the back of his thigh. 

“You're gorgeous,” Peter murmured against his skin.

No one had ever done this to him. It he was lucky he would get a firm hand on his thigh to hold it in place. If he was even luckier that hand would stroke or squeeze a little. This was different. 

“Peter,” he said, “come on.”

“Yeah? I'm gonna use my fingers first, okay?”

Again, this was new. He couldn't remember ever being asked. He usually found out that he was going to take a man's fingers when they were pushed into him.

“Okay,” he said. 

He could feel sweat beading on his forehead as Peter worked a slick finger inside him, then a second, then a third. He was opening him up ever so gently, but it was enough to make him grip the sheets and grit his teeth.

“Do you need more?” Peter said.

“That's enough,” Matt whined, “fuck me.”

“Christ,” Peter said under his breath.

Matt groaned as Peter withdrew his fingers and tried to stop his legs from quivering as he waited for him to put on a condom. He realised he wasn't going to last long and made a silent vow to make up for it. 

“You ready?” Peter said. 

“Yeah,” Matt said. 

Peter had only just began to sink inside him when Matt let out a sound halfway between a wail and a shout. Peter stilled.

“D'you want me to pull out?” he said.

“No,” Matt said, “s'because it's good, sorry.”

“Don't apologise,” Peter said.

He gripped Matt's hips, firm enough to feel possessive but not enough to hurt, and pushed deeper. Matt moaned, long and loud and wavering, and pressed back against Peter as he began to move.

“Is that good, baby?” Peter said.

“So good,” Matt choked out the words, “don't stop.”

He was already close. He could have asked Peter to slow down, but he couldn't bear the thought of the pleasure easing even a little. It was driving him wild; his fists were balled in the sheets, his legs ached, and his cock pulsed hot and heavy between his thighs. 

“Peter-!” he cried.

He felt Peter's hand wrap around him and screamed as he came over his fist and the sheets. It faded into a little grunt of discomfort. With a murmur of apology, Peter eased himself free. All the men Matt had ever been with flashed through his mind and he couldn't conjure a single one who wouldn't have just kept fucking him. He let his legs buckle and twisted around to take in the sight of Peter raised up on his knees with his cock hard and flushed. 

“I'm s-” Matt started.

“Shh,” Peter beckoned him closer. 

Matt clambered up onto his knees to mirror him. Peter slipped his arms around his torso and pulled him into a kiss. It was slow and earnest and Peter was holding him like he wanted him to feel safe. Matt tried to put his gratitude into the kiss, reached down to remove the condom, and took Peter's cock in a firm grip. 

“Oh yeah,” Peter sighed against his lips, “like that.”

They were close enough that the head of Peter's cock rubbed against his stomach with each pump of his fist. Between kisses, Peter told him that it was so good and he was so damn lucky until he was shuddering and unable to say anything other than Matt's name. 

“That was-” Peter panted.

“Yeah,” Matt said, “yeah it was.”

“Do you wanna stay?” Peter said. 

Matt nodded. Life was too short not be forthright. 

“I'm gonna ride you all night,” he said, “I'm gonna make you come over and over again.”

“I think I've only got one more in me tonight,” Peter said, “I'm an old man, remember?”

He reached out to stroke Matt's cheek with the back of his fingers. Matt smiled and leaned into his touch. 

“Still gonna ride you,” he said, “if you want me to.”

They collapsed in a jumble of limbs once Matt had fulfilled his promise. He drifted off to sleep thinking of the look on Peter's face, equal parts shock and delight, when he had started to bounce in his lap.

Some time in the small hours Matt jolted awake with a sharp intake of breath. He reached up to wipe at his face and inspected his hand in the faint glow of his alarm clock.

“You okay?” Peter's voice filled the room.

“Yeah,” Matt said, “just a dream.”

“C'mere,” Peter lifted his arm.

Matt curled against him, and it was warm, and Peter was broad and strong and soft all at once.

The second time they shared a bed, Peter confirmed Matt's suspicions that he was a missionary kinda guy. He found himself on his back with his legs wrapped around Peter's waist and Peter's big hands cupping his ass to keep his hips raised. Peter kissed him and mouthed at his jaw until Matt sunk his long fingers into his hair and held him there. He came shouting Peter's name as Peter moaned loud against his skin and followed. 

Once Matt felt like he could walk again, they ventured out of bed to watch TV. Matt complained that Peter's apartment was too fucking cold and, without a word, Peter got up and made his way into his bedroom. He returned with a well-worn grey FBI Academy sweatshirt. 

“That looks like a prized possession,” Matt said.

“It is,” Peter said, “but it's warm and I can't get in it any more.”

Matt took the sweatshirt with a smirk and pulled it over his head.

“How old is this?” he said.

“You don't wanna know,” Peter said. 

“As old as me?” he teased.

Peter sighed.

“Not quite."

Matt felt faintly ridiculous in his boxers, socks and the sweatshirt. Despite all that, he couldn't deny it was comfortable, even more so when Peter wrapped his arms around him and pulled him to his chest. For a second night together it was all very cosy, with a sweet but filthy fuck followed by whatever this was, but Matt wasn't complaining. 

The third time was different. Matt wove his way through busy hospital corridors until he found one of the room numbers he had scribbled on a scrap of paper. He stood in the doorway with his hands clutching the frame and felt his chest tighten at the sight of the empty bed. Whirling around, he caught sight of a passing nurse and waved his arms to get her attention. 

“Excuse me,” his voice came out louder than intended, “I'm looking for Peter Strahm and his room is empty and I-”

She held up her hands to soothe him. 

“He's visiting a friend in another ward,” she said. 

“Lindsey Perez?” Matt said.

The nurse nodded, a single sharp drop her chin as if she wasn't sure she should be giving that information to him. 

“I know her, I have her room number, thank you!”

He climbed another two flights of stairs and burst out into a bright corridor. It was heaving with staff and visitors and confused in-patients trying to find the right department but one man, dark-haired and broad-shouldered with a face like murder, stood out to Matt as if he was the only person in the whole building. Matt darted across the corridor into the men's room, hoping Hoffman hadn't seen him, and threw himself into a cubicle where he sat with his feet up on the closed lid like a kid hiding from a bully. 

Matt pulled out his phone and watched the minutes pass. He gave it a little longer than necessary before he emerged from the cubicle, half-expecting to see Hoffman stood there ready to pin him to the white tiles and throttle him. He peeped out of the men's room and looked both ways before making his way to the ward. 

The door to Perez's room was ajar. He felt his chest tighten again when he realised he couldn't hear voices and peered around door frame expecting to see Perez unconscious with Peter at her side. 

But Peter was sat with his head bowed, and the bed was vacant and soaked with blood. 

“Peter?” Matt said.

He stood at the threshold and waited for a reply, but Peter said nothing. 

“Is she-?” he stopped himself when Peter turned to look at him.

There were deep, dark shadows under his eyes and a thick dressing stuck to his throat. His expression was one of pure rage and misery.

“Oh god,” Matt said, “I'm so sorry.”

Still silent and thrumming with emotion, Peter held out a hand. Matt crossed the room in a couple of strides and took it in his. For a moment, Peter didn't react, then he slumped against Matt's body and took a deep, shuddering breath. Matt lifted his free hand to stroke his hair.

“I'm sorry,” Matt said, “I'm so sorry.”

He heard Peter sniff.

“We're gonna stop all this,” Matt said.

“I fucked up,” Peter said. 

Matt's eyes widened at the painful rasp of Peter's voice. 

“No you didn't,” Matt said. 

“You don't know,” Peter said, “I didn't save Lindsey, I shot a man, and I got myself trapped, and-”

He sighed.

“Hoffman's knows I suspect him,” he said, “he came here to pay his respects and I laid into him. I should've fuckin' played along.”

“Yeah probably,” Matt said, “but it's done now.”

“Excuse me-”

Both men looked up to see a nurse stood at the door. 

“I'm sorry to intrude,” she said, “but we need to move you back to your room, sir.”

Peter nodded. The room would be cleaned and made up and it would be like Perez was never been there. Matt gave him a squeeze before he stepped back and let him rise to his feet. 

“I saw Hoffman in the corridor,” Matt whispered as they left the room, “maybe we should head back separately in case he's hanging around.”

“No,” Peter said, “fuck him.”

He slipped an arm through Matt's and made a performance of shuffling along like he needed the support. Once the door to his room was closed behind them, he rose up to his full height and climbed into the bed with ease. 

Matt lifted the chair and set it close to the bed before sitting down. He went to take Peter's hand again, only for him to pat his chest as an invitation. 

“Isn't that gonna hurt?” Matt said.

“Damage is all up here,” Peter pointed at his throat.

Matt nodded and bent at the waist to settle against his chest. He pressed his cheek to the sliver of t-shirt exposed between the parted dressing gown and felt Peter's hand come to rest on his hair. He couldn't help but picture Hoffman returning to find them like this. It was stupid for him to even visit.

But he didn't move. 

****

**Peter**

It would have been much easier if he was alone, but Matt had suggested that he stay for a few nights to look after him. It was impossible to say no. It felt like a lifetime since someone had offered to do that.

Peter shoved a pair of jeans and a sweater in a bag and kicked it under the couch when Matt was in the shower. It would be fine. He would sneak out of bed, get dressed, and slink away under cover of darkness. In the morning Hoffman would be arrested and Matt would throw his apple cores at him for months to punish him sneaking off, but it would be fine. Still, he felt a pang of guilt when Matt took his face in his hands to kiss him goodnight. 

It wasn't long before Matt's familiar nasal snore filled the bedroom. Peter decided that he would hold him just a little longer, but the next time he opened his eyes and looked at the alarm clock an entire hour had passed. _Fuck_. The only blessing was that Matt had rolled away onto the other side of the bed. Peter rose, slow and careful, and made it to the bedroom door before he heard the snoring stop and a plaintive voice call for him.

“Peter?” 

He turned. Matt was trying to lift his head from the pillows in a stiff, unnatural way. 

“I'm just going to the bathroom, baby,” Peter said.

“I feel like shit,” Matt groaned, “it's too hot in here.” 

It wasn't hot at all. Peter walked back to the bed and set a hand against Matt's forehead.

“You're burning up,” he said. 

Matt grumbled something incomprehensible and sagged against his hand.

“Come on, let's get you sat up,” Peter said. 

Matt's skin was slick against Peter's palms as he positioned him against the headboard. 

“I'm gonna get you water and paracetamol,” Peter said, “I'll be right back.”

He opened the bedroom window wide enough for the blinds to clatter in the breeze and, with more patience than he had ever shown in his life, encouraged Matt to drink as much water as he could. Throughout the night, Matt twitched and groaned and Peter mopped his forehead and murmured to him. The fever hadn't broken by morning and Matt slurred his way through a call to the station to say he was too sick to come in. They wanted a doctor's note. 

The doctor's verdict was simple; it was just the flu but it could last a few more days. When Peter pointed at his throat and said he could stay home to look after Matt she gave him a look that said _I honestly do not want to know what's under that dressing_. 

By the time she left, Matt was wilting on the couch, all heavy-lids and pale skin and sweat-soaked hair. Peter settled next to him, guided him to lie across his lap, and made peace with the fact that he would put the sweater and jeans back in the closet that night. 

****

**Matt**

“You let me think she was dead?” Peter's cheek was pressed to the side of Perez's head.

He had her in a crushing embrace. It would have been enough to make Matt jealous had Peter's mournful reminiscences not painted a picture something strictly platonic. 

“We had to protect her,” Erickson said. 

The memory of Peter sat by that empty bed made Matt want to slap the Bluetooth earpiece right off the side of Erickson's face. 

“What did you think I was going to do?” Peter said over the top of Perez's head. His voice still deepened to a pained growl when he was riled or excited. 

“Something rash,” Erickson said. 

Peter said nothing. No one needed to know about the bag of clothes that was under his couch for two nights. 

“It's okay,” Perez said.

She raised her hands to Peter's chest and pushed him back a little. They were still barely a foot apart and he was looking at her like she was made of china. 

“Why now?” Peter said.

With her palms still set against his shirt, she looked to Erickson, then to Matt, and met Peter's eye again.

“We may be able to arrest Hoffman tonight,” she said, “Sachi is working on the tape from the Seth Baxter case.”

“We're going to call him in,” Erickson said, “maybe he'll crack.” 

“With respect, sir,” Matt piped up, “I don't think that's a good idea, do you?”

“Matt-” Peter stopped himself. 

Erickson and Perez shared a fleeting look.

“Gibson,” his surname already sounded alien in Peter's mouth, “the FBI are equipped to deal with him.”

“Really?” Matt said, “you're gonna back him into a corner and ask him to come quietly?”

No one said a word. Peter was looking at him with a pained expression.

“Don't,” Matt spoke as if they were the only two people in the room, “you know what I saw him do.”

“You don't have to be here when he arrives,” Peter spoke in a gentle, hushed voice.

“I don't want to be at your funeral, Peter! Or yours, or yours,” he jabbed his finger at Perez and Erickson in turn, “or Sachi, I haven't met her, I'm sure she's great, I'd rather he didn't kill her either!”

He knew he was at his worst now, loud, obnoxious, and a little incoherent, but he couldn't stop.

“I think he enjoys hurting people and he sure as shit loves power. If you get him in there and give him fuckin' warning that you're gonna take all that away you're gonna end up hurt or dead!”

His voice broke on that last word. The jibe about Peter's funeral caught up to him and forced images into his mind that he couldn't bear. The room swam, and he found himself grasping for the edge of the desk he was sure had been within reach only seconds ago. He felt his head tilt back, then strong hands closed around his arms and held him upright. Peter was saying _okay, it's okay_ and somewhere in the wash of his own heartbeat and Peter's voice he could hear Perez say the words he needed to hear.

“He has a point, sir.”

****

**Peter**

Peter sat with Matt's clammy hand in his as they watched Sachi work. It was remarkable to witness. She seemed to be weaving magic, moving her hands as if she was acting on instinct, displaying a skill that was equal parts art and science.

_right now you're feeling helpless, right now you're feeling helpless, right now you're feeling helpless ___

____

____

“I'm getting there,” Sachi said. 

Matt had looked a little shocked when he took his hand, but Peter didn't see the point in hiding after his outburst. It was all over when Matt swayed in his grip and jabbered that he couldn't lose him. 

They had been on their way to Sachi's basement office with Matt and Lindsey out in front, chatting with warmth that made Peter's chest swell, when Erickson set a hand on his shoulder.

“Strahm,” he said, “just so you know, you don't have to worry. My eldest is...like you two.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said. 

_right now you're feeling helpless, right now you're feeling helpless, right now you're feeling helpless_

Peter turned to look at Matt, rapt and beautiful in the pale light of the office, and thought _damn right I am_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Matt and Peter**

Matt changed into his best suit, the one he usually reserved for weddings and high profile court cases, and set off to Peter's place. He had it all planned. Peter would open his door and Matt would throw his arms wide and say something corny like _we did it, baby_. He would kiss him on the doorstop, neighbours be damned, and they would fuck like animals to celebrate the beginning of the rest of their lives.

His plan went to shit at the sight of Peter looking tired and relieved and a little smug with his throat still dressed. They came so close to ruin. He came so close to losing him. Relief hit Matt like a wave and washed away any sense of triumph.

“We did-” his voice broke before he could finish.

Before he could try again, Peter took him under one arm and pushed the door closed. Matt grabbed fistfuls of Peter's shirt and buried his face in his shoulder. He burned with embarrassment. Peter had never seen him like this, and he had only seen Peter cry over Lindsey the night he was discharged from the hospital. Even then, he thought Peter had looked dignified sat on the edge of the bed with the back of his hand against his lips as tears made slow tracks down his cheeks. Matt knew he looked anything but dignified, snivelling like a lost child, but Peter just wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.

“It's okay,” Peter said.

“I know,” Matt said, “what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“There's nothing wrong with you,” Peter said, “it's just hit you that's all, everything we've been though, everything he did...”

He pressed his lips to Matt's temple and swayed from side to side. Matt let out a shuddering sigh.

“Do you wanna tell me how it went?” Peter whispered.

Erickson decided to keep Peter and Lindsey out the arrest, much to their disappointment, arguing that the sight of them would only provoke Hoffman. They had to watch a fleet of agents set off to the MPD looking like they were equipped to fight several bears.

“He went quietly,” Matt said, “they just took him away.”

Anyone would have guessed that Matt would want to soak in the sight of Hoffman in cuffs, but he was scared to look in case he caught his eye and saw hatred that could break chains and bend bars. A couple of cops had turned to him with pointed, suspicious looks that said _what the fuck have you accused him of now?_ Matt just stared back thinking _you just fuckin' wait and see_.

“Sorry for being a baby,” he said.

“You're not-”

Peter faltered, unable to use the usual _baby_ that flew between them. Matt smiled into his shirt.

“You look real smart tonight,” Peter said, “is this all for me?”

Matt looked up and nodded, his eyes gleaming with something other than tears.

“I'm a lucky man,” Peter said.

“I only put it on so you could take it off,” Matt said.

“D'you want me to?” Peter said, “today hasn't been too strange?”

“It's been as strange as it gets,” Matt said, “but I know how I want it to end.”

He tilted his head to take Peter's lips in a soft kiss.

“Take me to bed,” he said.

“Yes, officer.”

Peter hauled him up and over his shoulder before he knew what was happening.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Matt said.

“Taking you to bed.”

“Not fair,” Matt said, “I can't do this to you.”

“You can when I'm old and frail.”

“In a couple of years then?”

“Fuck you!” Peter laughed and clapped a hand against his ass.

Matt just sniggered and let himself go limp, his long arms and legs dangling as Peter carried him into the bedroom. He could still taste tears in the back of his throat, but he felt giddy with excitement and, yes, love. Peter flung him back onto the bed with a little more force than intended, apologised, and prowled over his body to kiss him so fiercely that Matt would have forgiven him if he'd dropped him face-first on the floorboards. Peter lingered there as he positioned their hands above Matt's head and entwined their fingers.

“You call the shots tonight,” Peter said, “whatever you want, you get.”

“I just want you, baby,” Matt said.

“Tell me how,” Peter dipped to kiss his neck, “tell me how you want me.”

“I wanna be on top,” Matt said, his voice strained, “but I want you deep inside me.”

Peter moaned, a broken _oh_ , and pressed their bodies flush. For one heart-plummeting moment Matt thought he was going to come there and then, ruining his best suit and their evening at the same time. He pressed his eyes shut and tried to think of anything but Peter's body against his. Mercifully, Peter pushed himself up onto his knees to wrench his tie from his collar. Matt bit his lip as he watched him unbutton his shirt, revealing inch after inch of pale skin and dark hair until it was too much to bear. Matt sat up and licked his chest, ending in a sloppy kiss just below the dressing on his throat as he pushed the shirt past Peter's shoulders. Once it lay crumpled on the bed, he reached down to fumble with Peter's belt.

“Hey,” Peter said, “stand up a second.”'

They scrambled from the bed to rid themselves of their pants, and Matt couldn't help but snigger again, knowing he was exposed and hard and obscene from the waist down while his suit jacket, shirt, waistcoat and tie remained pristine. The laugh died on his lips when he looked up to see Peter stood naked before him. He wasn't sure if he would ever get over the sight.

“Peter-”

“Come here.”

Peter undressed him with reverence, slow and careful, looking down at him like he couldn't believe he was real. He folded Matt's suit jacket over his arm, then his waistcoat, then his fingers made short work of the buttons on his shirt. Peter let it hang open to display Matt's chest but only loosened his tie, leaving the knot resting on his sternum. It conjured images of being led by it, with Peter's strong grip around the tail of silk now pointing at his flushed cock. The thought made Matt bite his lip again and exhale hard through his nose.

“You okay?” Peter said.

“Lie down,” Matt said, “please.”

Peter smiled at him like he had said something oh so sweet, set the folded clothes on the floor, and climbed onto the bed to lie on his back with his cock standing hard and inviting. Matt's open shirt hung from his shoulders and his tie swung from his neck as he crawled onto the bed. He rolled a condom onto Peter's cock and pumped lube onto the two fingers he held out for him. Peter reached around to ease them inside Matt, who whined and pressed back in a wordless plea for more. Once Peter was satisfied he was ready, and Matt was desperate, he slipped his fingers free and set his hands on Matt's hips to guide him into his lap.

Matt locked eyes with him and reached back to take his cock in his hand. He watched the look of anticipation on Peter's face melt into ecstasy as he sunk down, and could only gasp at the feeling of Peter filling him. It took a moment for him to gather himself, then he began to rock his hips, riding Peter with his hands braced on his chest. The grip on his hips tightened.

“Oh fuck,” Peter sighed, “what did I do to deserve you?”

The desire to say three dangerous words was almost overwhelming, but Matt made himself bite them down. He felt Peter's hands leave his hips, then they were everywhere at once, caressing his thighs and torso in long strokes. Peter's right hand reached around to squeeze his ass and his left crept high up his chest until his fingertips brushed the base of his throat. Before Peter could react, Matt took hold of his hand, kissed the tips of his index and middle fingers, and took them into his mouth to suck.

Peter gasped. His hips bucked. Matt's cry was muffled, but he ground down to meet Peter's thrust, sitting even lower on his cock. His eyes watered.

“Careful, baby,” Peter said, his voice ragged.

Matt only nodded, his tongue pressing against Peter's skin, and rocked his hips faster, feeling Peter's cock nudge deeper than ever. He let himself shiver.

“Is it good?” Peter said.

Matt nodded again and moaned around Peter's fingers. He felt Peter's free hand brush over his hip to stroke his thigh.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Peter said, “or do you want to come from my cock?”

Matt let out a choked sound and grabbed Peter's wrist to drag his fingers from his mouth.

“Fuck!” he cried, “Touch me, please!”

It only took a few firm strokes before he came over Peter's fist with a strangled moan. The rocking of his hips became frantic and he felt himself tighten around Peter's cock.

“Matt-” Peter groaned, “oh god-”

He threw his head back and gritted his teeth, exposing the line of that perfect jaw Matt wanted to lick and kiss. Matt watched in wonder, shaking as he came down from his own high, and knew he wanted to do this forever.

Peter's hand closed around his tie, only to give it a gentle tug. Matt curled forward to kiss him. It would have been easy to fall asleep slumped over his chest, but he found himself being untangled and guided to the shower. They both stood under the stream, tired and sated, and ran their hands over each other's bodies with no aim or purpose except to feel.

The bedroom was cold when they returned. Matt vowed to convince Peter move out of his draughty-ass apartment by next winter and rummaged around under “his” pillows to retrieve the FBI Academy sweatshirt that now lived there. Used to this routine, Peter uncurled his arms from around Matt to let him pull the sweatshirt on and curled them right back round again when he was done.

Matt dreamt of Peter. Or rather, the two of them together. He woke early, achingly hard, with Peter stiff against the back of his thigh.

“Peter,” he said.

There was no reply, not even a stir, only Peter's breaths coming in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest against Matt's back.

“Peter, wake up.”

Still nothing.

“Peter, wake up, I wanna fuck.”

Peter grunted and pushed his hips forward.

“You're awake,” Matt said.

“I am now,” Peter said.

“Put your dick in me,” Matt whined.

“We went pretty hard last night,” Peter planted a kiss behind his ear, “we should go easy on you.”

Matt let out a disgruntled noise. Peter shushed him.

“Wanna try something new?” Peter said.

“Yeah?” Matt said.

“Can I fuck your thighs?”

Matt swallowed. He felt his cock throb.

“Fuck yeah,” he said.

“Press them together for me, baby.”

Matt did as he was told. He felt Peter shift behind him and could hear the wet pump of lube, then Peter's breath was hot on his neck and the head of his cock was pressing where his thighs met.

“Tell me if you don't like it,” Peter whispered, “I don't wanna do anything you don't like.”

“I'm gonna like it, Peter, it involves your dick.”

Peter laughed, low and dirty, and reached around to push the hem of the sweatshirt up Matt's torso. His thumb brushed over his nipples, then he dragged his fingertips down his chest and stomach to close around his cock. Matt moaned, loud and needy, and flung an arm back to claw at Peter's side.

“Ready?” Peter said in his ear.

“Yes!” Matt gasped.

He felt the push and drag of the first thrust.

“Relax a little,” Peter grunted.

“I'm stronger than you thought, huh?”

“I know exactly how strong you are,” Peter growled.

Matt smiled and once again did as he was told. With the second thrust came the sensation of Peter's cock slipping over the soft skin and taut muscle of his thighs, followed by the wet heat of Peter's mouth on his neck.

“Yeah?” Matt said.

“So good,” Peter moaned against his skin.

“What is it with you and my goddamn legs?”

“They're perfect. You're perfect.”

"Baby-"

Those three fucking words were bubbling up again, but Peter cut him short with a squeeze and twist of his fist. He began to roll his hips in time with each pump of Matt's cock, alternating between kissing his neck and moaning low in his ear.

Matt lifted the covers to watch Peter's hand working him as he slid back and forth between his legs. There was an intensity to it; seeing Peter's cock move with the motion of his thrusts instead of just feeling it. It made Matt think of the view Peter had when he took him from behind, and what a terrible, stupid, brilliant idea it would be to ask Peter to film it on his phone so he could see it for himself.

He pressed his lips together in an attempt to smother the desperate sounds rising in his throat. It felt like it was acceptable to scream and yell when he was full of dick or getting sucked off but this was just a handjob, albeit a skilled one with a great view.

Then, Peter spoke.

“I'm gonna come all over your pretty thighs.”

“Peter!”

It came out as a burst of sound, and with it Matt was shuddering and keening with his legs still clamped together. For a second, Peter went rigid, then his thrusts came fast and shallow and he cried out until his voice was hoarse.

Once the pleasure had faded to a satisfied throb, Matt grounded himself in the comforting warmth of Peter's body. An awareness of the mess in his lap followed, but he didn't care to move.

“Pretty?” he said.

“You gonna argue with me?” Peter said.

“...no.”

“Have you got work today?”

“No, you?”

“No, stay?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, “let's have a normal fuckin' day for the first time in...I dunno how long.”

“If this is how my normal days are gonna start,” Peter said, “I'm even luckier than I thought.”

Matt was certain that he would never be able to stop loving him. He would tell him later, when it couldn't be written off as a product of the afterglow. From the tone of Peter's voice, he could tell he was just as loved in return. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Mr and Mr Strahm-Gibson**

It wasn't long before the two of them were living in a warmer home surrounded by shared belongings and mutual decisions. It wasn't much longer until they were both wearing plain silver bands. Life was too short, after all. It was Peter who asked, late one night when they were both a little drunk and kissing on the couch, and it felt desperately hot until he started listing all the practical reasons to get married. Matt had told him that if he heard the words “death in service benefit” one more time he was going to insist they both wore white suits to the wedding.

Their lives returned to normal, or at least their brand of normal, until Hoffman decided to pull a Hannibal Lecter. The MPD were left with a file of four missing persons who would have been prime targets for Kramer. Hoffman was asked if he recognised any of them, and if he knew where their bodies were, but he was only willing to speak to Detective Matt Gibson.

He was actually Matt Strahm-Gibson now, but it seemed like far too much effort to get everyone to call him that. It didn't occur to them to change their names until Matt's mom gently pointed out that having a shared surname would make certain things much easier. It was his sister who pointed out that their names sounded cool mashed together.

And so Matt Strahm-Gibson stood at front door of their little house with his coat on, his bag in hand, and Peter cupping his face.

“Don't get close to him,” Peter said.

“He's gonna be chained up behind unbreakable fuckin' glass,” Matt said.

“Keep it that way, don't let anyone convince you otherwise.”

“I know, baby.”

“Even if he refuses to talk, just leave, don't bargain with your safety.”

“I won't. I promise.”

Peter stroked Matt's cheeks with his thumbs.

“Be careful,” he said.

“I will,” Matt said, “you need me in one piece.”

“And what a piece!” Peter said.

Matt sniggered and tilted his head to kiss him. He murmured at the sensation of Peter's forearm sliding around his shoulders.

“I gotta go,” he said.

Peter grumbled.

“I'll call you when I get to the hotel,” Matt said, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Be careful.”

“I will.”

The MPD had booked him a room in a hotel near the penitentiary. He only packed enough clothes to last four days and tried not to think about it taking any longer. The drive was long and miserable with endless grey roads and yellowing grass verges and sad rest stops until the penitentiary loomed ahead. He left his belongings to be locked away for the duration of his visit and let himself be led to what he dreaded.

And there he was. Matt wasn't sure what he expected, maybe a beard, longer hair, even a busted lip, but Hoffman looked just like he always did, bar the baggy orange top in place of a crisp shirt and tie. His wrists were cuffed with a heavy chain running through a thick metal loop on the table in front of him, no doubt bolted to the floor.

Hoffman watched Matt with a strange mix of repulsion and satisfaction as he settled into the seat on the other side of the barrier. _Don't get close to him_. Well he was fucking close, but the cuffs and the screen looked pretty solid. Matt flashed him a tight smile that was all mouth and no emotion, then turned his attention to the little oblong of desk space in front of him. He set his dictaphone close to the tiny holes drilled in the bottom of the screen, turned it on, and looked up.

“You came,” Hoffman said.

“You didn't give me much choice.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Hoffman's gaze slid to Matt's hands.

“You're married?”

He sounded incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Peter Strahm.”

Hoffman smirked.

“I saw you together at the trial,” he said, “you looked like you wanted to sit in his lap.”

Matt shrugged.

“I do that a lot.”

Hoffman balked, but it only took a second for him to gather himself.

“How old is he?” he said.

“Older than me,” Matt said.

“Bet you don't like to think about that,” Hoffman said, “must hurt.”

“He doesn't give me reason to think about it,” Matt said.

Then, just to be a shit, he smiled a blissful smile and rolled his eyes back into his head. When he looked back at Hoffman he was met with nothing but hatred.

“For the record,” Matt tilted his chin towards the dictaphone, “I just pulled a face to infer that I have a rewarding physical relationship with my husband.”

Hoffman glowered at him.

“This seems to have angered Mr Hoffman,” Matt continued.

Despite all that had passed, it still felt odd to drop _Detective_ and replace it with _Mr_. The curl of Hoffman's lip told him that it really stung.

“Does it make you angry to see me happy?” Matt said, “did you ask for me 'cos you wanted to see a broken man?”

He flashed Hoffman a smirk. Then, Hoffman leant forward as far as the cuffs would allow and bared his teeth.

“I asked for you because I know you're fuckin' scared of me,” he said, “Strahm might fuck you like the whore you are, but what you really need is a big, strong man to hold you when you think of what would happen if I got my hands on you.”

Matt wanted to shout until the screen was flecked with spit, to tell Hoffman that Peter fucked him like he loved him, and that it was better than he ever thought it could be, and that Hoffman had never and would never know anything like it.

“What would you do to me?” he said, instead.

He was proud of himself for keeping his voice steady, but the smug smile on Hoffman's face told him that he had failed to disguise the sharp rise and fall of his chest.

“If I was free?” Hoffman said.

“Yeah. Why don't you tell me?”

“I'd break into your home when you were alone,” Hoffman said, “I'd pin you down with my hands around your throat. You wouldn't be able to fight me off. I'd take you to the point of death over and over again until I finally gave it to you. Then I would leave you in your bed for Strahm to find.”

“Like your sister?”

Fury flashed over Hoffman's face. He looked as if he could tear Matt apart with his bare hands.

“Don't you fuckin' dare compare yourself to her!” he snarled.

Matt's mouth was dry. His heart thudded in his chest.

“You saw the person you loved most murdered in her own bed,” he said.

“You're nothing like her!”

“Maybe not,” Matt said, “but what would give you the right to do that to Peter?”

Hoffman said nothing. His nostrils flared and his chest began to heave.

“How would murdering me and leaving me for my husband to find fit into Kramer's philosophy?” Matt said.

“It wouldn't,” Hoffman spat.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Mr Hoffman.”

Matt rose from his seat and left the room without looking back. He ignored the looks on the faces of everyone gathered outside, no doubt reeling from all the talk of getting dicked by his husband, and headed off to collect his coat and bag. It pained him to have gleaned so little on the first day, but years of detective work had taught him that he needed to let Hoffman stew a little. If he pushed too hard now he could wreck his chances of getting anything valuable.

The hotel room was sparse. The heater clicked and rattled when he fiddled with the dial and did little to fight off the draught that came from under the door. Matt took one of the towels from the bathroom and shoved it against the inch gap at the bottom. He wanted nothing more than be back home in Peter's sweatshirt and Peter's arms. He inspected the bedclothes for obvious signs of bugs or stains and wriggled under the covers before calling him.

“Hey, how'd it go?”

“Uh,” Matt said, “could have been better, could have been worse.”

“Tell me all about it.”

Matt took a deep breath and began. He could picture Peter sat on the couch with his lips pressed tight and his eyes gleaming; calculating whether he could drive there to sit sentry all night and still make it to work in the morning.

“I'm okay,” Matt said.

“I don't want you there,” Peter said.

“I know,” Matt said, “but I think I can crack this tomorrow.”

“Is the hotel secure?”

“Kinda,” Matt said.

He was joking. Peter didn't laugh.

“It's a max security penitentiary,” Matt said, “he's not gonna get anywhere near my crappy hotel room.”

“I know,” Peter said, “it's still gonna keep me up all night.”

“Do you wanna stay awake with me and run our phone bills up?”

“I'd love to, but you need sleep,” Peter said.

“You're too damn sensible.”

“You're too damn far away.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Matt would never tell anyone, not even Peter, that the last thing he did before he brushed his teeth and climbed back into the lumpy bed was to pick up the single chair in the room and set it under the door handle.

He dreamt of their wedding. The town hall, the cluster of friends, the smaller cluster of family, and the adoring look on Peter's face. The only difference was that instead of his best suit, Matt was wearing his old uniform, and when Peter stepped back after kissing him his lips and chin were smeared with blood.

Matt woke with a start and scrabbled for his phone. The room had a frustrating lack of plug sockets and he had been forced to leave it charging on the floor a few feet away from the bed. The rough carpet burned against his forearm as he slid his upper body over the edge of the mattress and reached for it in the dark. He squinted at the screen. It was just gone 4am.

 _Are you awake_ he typed.

Only a few seconds passed before his phone vibrated and the screen flashed Peter's name.

“Are you okay?” Peter said.

“I had a shitty dream,” Matt rubbed at his eyes, “did I wake you?”

“No, I've been staring at the ceiling for hours trying to kill Hoffman with my mind.”

“Let him tell me where the bodies are first.”

“If you insist. What did you dream?”

Matt groaned.

“It's okay,” Peter said.

“I'm being pathetic.”

“Hey, I made you shower with me for weeks after-”

“I know,” Matt cut him off. He didn't want to hear Peter say _after he tried to drown me_ out loud.

“You're allowed to be frightened,” Peter said.

There was something in the tone of his voice that made Matt feel like he was right there beside him and god, Hoffman was right, he couldn't bear to think of the years he might have to spend without him.

“I am frightened,” Matt whispered it as if he was embarrassed for the plain white walls of the hotel room to hear him, “it feels like it's all to big to be contained in a prison, Peter, seeing him again just reminded me how much of a force of fuckin' nature the bastard is.”

“He'll die in there,” Peter said, “he'll die alone and bitter and there's nothing he can do about it.”

Matt swallowed loud enough to hear on the other end of the line.

“What did you dream?” Peter said.

There was an urgency in his voice, and it dawned on Matt that Peter thought he had dreamt of Hoffman carrying out his threat, of being pinned to their bedroom floor as the life was squeezed out of him, and of being left pale and limp and bruised and forever fear-stricken.

“It was our wedding,” Matt said, “but I looked how I did when Hoffman shot that guy in front of me. I was in my uniform and covered in blood.”

“Oh baby,” Peter whispered.

“It made me feel-” Matt fumbled for the right word, “ _dirty_ , like he was in my memories, ruining them.”

“He can't ruin them,” Peter said, “everything about that day was perfect.”

“Even when my sister threw up on her dress?”

“Even then,” Peter said, and Matt could hear his smile in his voice, “she's a great kid.”

Matt tried to think of something funny to say, but his eyes stung and his throat felt tight, and it wasn't just because he was hanging over the edge of the bed close to a carpet that had probably never been vacuumed properly.

“How's the room?” Peter said.

“Sucks,” Matt said.

“Home sucks without you.”

“Bullshit, home is warm and comfortable.”

“I'd rather be there with you.”

“Fuck, Peter,” a dam broke in him, “I miss you already.”

“I miss you too, but you'll be home in no time.”

“I'm gonna crack this,” Matt said, “I'm gonna make sure we find them.”

“You can do it.”

They said their I love yous and Matt managed snatch a little more sleep before the sun burst through the thin blinds. Admitting defeat, he dragged himself into the shower and jerked off to the thought of Peter's hands on his body.

He threw on his suit and a fresh shirt. He hadn't packed any extra ties, but found two rolled up and tucked neatly into one of the pockets inside his bag.

 _Thanks for the ties_ he sent to Peter.

 _I knew you wouldn't pack any spares_ Peter sent.

Matt replied with the aubergine emoji.

 _I don't know what that means_ Peter sent.

 _You're adorable_ Matt sent.

It pissed down with rain on the short drive to the penitentiary. It was only the second time in his life he had seen it and he was already sick of the fucking place. It represented failure; failure to tie up all the loose ends before Hoffman was sent away and failure to scrub him from their lives forever. He needed to finish this once and for all.

Once again, Hoffman sat waiting for him, cuffed and hateful.

“Morning,” Matt said.

“What did Strahm say?”

“What?”

“What did Strahm say,” Hoffman repeated, slowly, as if he was stupid, “when you told him what I said yesterday?”

Matt knew what was happening. Here was a man who had grown used to power and inflicting pain, and now that had been taken away he was clawing at any chance to feel it again. There was no point in lying. Hoffman knew that he would tell Peter and he knew that Peter would want to kill him even more than he did before.

“He said he didn't want me here,” Matt said.

The corners of Hoffman's mouth curled.

“Go on,” he said.

“He asked me if my hotel room was secure.”

Hoffman let out a bark of a laugh. It struck Matt that he had never heard it before. He wondered who had.

“Strahm is scared I'm gonna bust outta this place and kill his little husband.”

Matt bristled at _little_ but didn't feel anything but pride in the knowledge that his husband cared about him. If Hoffman didn't get that he was more fucked up than he thought.

“Yesterday I asked you how killing me and leaving me for Peter to find would fit into Kramer's philosophy.”

“And I said it wouldn't.”

“No, you're your own man now,” Matt said.

“Don't try to flatter me, Gibson.”

“I'm not,” Matt's voice was firm, “believe me.”

Hoffman leant back in his seat and stared at him, silent again.

“What did Kramer mean to you?” Matt said.

Hoffman raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side.

“I'm not like you,” he said, “I don't fuck the men I work with.”

“I don't think you fucked him,” Matt said, unable to stop his nose wrinkling, “I'm asking-”

“Was Strahm the first man you fucked on the job?” Hoffman interrupted, “everyone at the station knew what you were, but no one admitted to using you. How many times have you been fucked by someone who wouldn't look you in the eye? Does Strahm know how much dick you took before you met him?”

“I'm asking,” Matt raised his voice, aware that he was losing control, “if you continued Kramer's work because you felt a connection to him.”

It pained him to say _work_ but calling it _evil_ _murderous life-ruining bullshit_ wouldn't do him any favours.

“He blackmailed me,” Hoffman said.

“Yeah,” Matt said, “but was that the only reason?”

Hoffman fell back into silence. Matt knew he had the upper hand again.

“I saw how you reacted when Jill Tuck testified. Kramer instructed her to test you,” Matt said.

“She's a crazy bitch.”

“Your words, not mine. You looked upset. It was the only time you looked upset, apart from when they talked about Seth Baxter and your sis-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Hoffman rose from his seat into the stoop his bonds would allow. Matt was ashamed to feel himself shrink back, and his shoes scuffed the floor as Hoffman stood, snarling, with the chain of his cuffs pulled taut. Two guards burst through the door behind him.

“It's okay,” Matt called.

They faltered, uncertain, and he raised a hand to reinforce his decision. The last thing he wanted was for them to drag Hoffman away at such a crucial moment. Both guards nodded and turned back, leaving Hoffman frozen on the spot with his eyes wild and his breath coming hard and irregular. Matt gripped the edge of his desk until his fingertips turned white. It was time to play his hand.

“Did you see Kramer as a father figure?” he said.

“Don't you fuckin' dare,” Hoffman choked.

“Amanda Young did.”

“Amanda Young was crazy.”

“Everyone's crazy but you.”

“Fuck you!”

“I think you did, and it broke your heart when you found out that he would have done to you what you did to so many, together, side by side.”

“Fuck you,” Hoffman said, but it was feeble now.

Matt was sure the chains of his cuffs rattled, just for a second.

“Tell me where those bodies are,” Matt said, “please tell me where they are. You owe him nothing.”

Hoffman's eyes flicked down to the cuffs. It was as if he was realising for the first time that this was the reality of the rest of his life. When he met Matt's gaze again, his eyes were brimming.

Three were their victims. He knew nothing of the fourth. Matt thanked him, told him that their families would be given the closure they deserved, and went to leave.

“Gibson?” Hoffman said.

He was still standing, hunched now, the chain lax.

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?”

Matt nodded.

“Don't take it for granted,” Hoffman said.

“I won't.”

Matt had to endure cheers and slaps on the back from the little congregation that had formed outside the room. He was no stranger to bullshit and bravado but all he wanted was to get away. A quick call to his superiors confirmed his worst suspicions that, despite his success and the long drive ahead of him, they expected him back at the station to finish the working day. He sunk into his car with a sigh and sent a series of messages to Peter.

_I did it!_

_Gotta head back to the station_

_I'll be home after 6_

_You better brace yourself_

He pulled over for a piss and a coffee around the halfway point. He made the mistake of reading Peter's long, reverent response in line and ended up ordering his drink with a smile far too wide for such a shithole. The rest of the drive was tinged with a strange sense of panic as if the penitentiary had sprouted legs and was bounding after him, and when he saw the city limits on the horizon he whooped and pounded the steering wheel with his fist.

There were more cheers and slaps on the back when he got to the station, but at least they came from familiar faces who knew just how tough the last two days had been. He worked his ass off for the rest of the day and by the time he was shrugging on his coat there was already a taskforce in place.

 _Heading home_ he sent to Peter.

 _Me too_ Peter replied.

He envisioned ripped seams and lost shirt buttons, sweat and screaming, teeth and nails, and by the time he pulled up to the house he was almost shaking. Peter wasn't home yet and he decided to sit on the hood of the car to wait for him, replacing the previous images with that of being fucked on it in plain view of the neighbours. That would, of course, remain a fantasy.

He perched on the edge with his legs dangling and his hands clasped in his lap, and grinned when Peter's dark sedan rounded the corner. Peter swung into the drive and burst from the car to heave Matt into his arms, whirling him around fast enough for his feet to clear the ground.

“I'm so fucking proud of you,” Peter's voice rumbled in his ear.

“Did I do good or did I do good?”

“So good!”

Peter squeezed hard enough to make Matt laugh. The neighbours' dog barked in response.

“We better go inside,” Peter whispered.

Once the front door was closed, Matt took Peter's tie in one hand and reached up to stroke his face with the other. It felt like it had been weeks since he touched him, and the weight of Peter's hands on his back made him shiver.

“Show me how much you missed me,” Matt said.

“I will,” Peter said, “fuck, I will, but why don't you get everything off your chest first?”

“I wanna get it off my chest by getting on your-”

“Was it as bad as yesterday?”

“Peter, c'mon, let's-”

“Please, baby.”

Matt fiddled with Peter's tie for a second before he let it drop from his fingertips.

“It wasn't as bad,” he said, “he didn't say anything about hurting me, just some bullshit.”

“What kind of bullshit?”

Matt sighed and repeated Hoffman's words. He tried to focus on the sensation of Peter's hands running up and down his back as he said _How many times have you been fucked by someone who wouldn't look you in the eye? Does Strahm know how much dick you took before you met him?_

“That son of a bitch,” Peter spoke through gritted teeth.

Matt shrugged.

“You told me there were...a few,” Peter faltered as he tried to find the right words, “and you told me it wasn't always...nice.”

Matt nodded.

“You've got nothing to be ashamed of. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Matt said, “now take me to bed and make all this shit go away.”

There were no ruined clothes or bite marks. Matt lay on his back with his knees hooked over Peter's shoulders and his toes pointing at the ceiling. His fingers threaded through Peter's hair as they shared desperate, messy kisses, then Peter was breaking away to pant against his neck and Matt was rocking back against him and whimpering.

Peter pressed a lingering kiss to his lips before he eased away, and he took care to look Matt in the eye as he helped him lower his shaking legs to the bed. The stress and exhaustion of the last two days hit Matt all at once and all he wanted was for Peter to lie down next to him.

“We should shower,” Peter said.

Matt groaned and closed his eyes.

“I could run us a bath?” Peter said.

“Okay, but if I fall asleep don't let me drown,” Matt said.

His eyes snapped open.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “that wasn't funny.”

“It's okay,” Peter said, “it's okay.”

Matt let himself doze a little, knowing Peter would keep him propped up against his chest. The water was hot and the house was quiet, and more than anything, he felt safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think these dumbasses would have made it if they had each other.


End file.
